Movie review: 'Extraordinary Measures' full of treacle, altered facts

Nothing tugs at the heart as effectively as sick children, especially those with catastrophic illnesses. And, unfortunately, Hollywood knows this.

Al Alexander

Nothing tugs at the heart as effectively as sick children, especially those with catastrophic illnesses. And, unfortunately, Hollywood knows this.

Exploitative doesn’t even begin to describe the callousness of the suits that equate ailing kids with healthy profits. We saw it last year with the unctuous “My Sister’s Keeper,” and we’ve seen it dozens of times before, especially on the tube.

Which, not so strangely, is where the roots of the new Harrison Ford vehicle “Extraordinary Measures” take hold. It’s the first release from a little upstart called CBS Films, which is part of the vast Viacom empire governed by multi-billionaire Sumner Redstone.

And as you might expect, it plays like a slicker version of an antiquated disease-of-the-week TV flick in which an illness is defined and cured in the space of 90 minutes. Death, of course, is not an option.

That describes “Extraordinary Measures” to a T, as Ford’s genetic scientist rushes to devise a serum to prevent his business partner’s two “adorable” children from succumbing to a form of muscular dystrophy called Pompe.

The disease is deadly, the cure, more so. Especially when the remedy is administered by a screenwriter injecting more treacle and altered facts than an alleged “true story” can withstand. Worse, none of the changes make a lick of sense.

Why, for example, move the locations from Oklahoma and Cambridge, Mass., to Nebraska and Seattle? And why make a hero of a man like John Crowley (Brendan Fraser), who inadvertently parlayed his fight to find a cure for his two Pompe-inflicted infants into an enormously successful business? Talk about win-win.

Some may cheer his exploits, but I found them somewhat morally reprehensible. And it’s not just because he made millions off his dying kids. No, what bothers me more is how he cut corners (and flagrantly ignored FDA rules) to get his tykes included in the initial test of the miracle drug.

Are his offspring more important than the thousands of others who could have benefited? Of course they’re not. And that issue eats at you long after the movie is over.

But what eats at you more is the idiotic and simplistic way Crowley’s story is told. Director Tom Vaughan (“What Happens in Vegas”) and screenwriter Robert Nelson Jacobs (“Chocolat”) treat viewers like morons, going out of their way to accentuate the obvious and downplay the more intriguing moral and ethical aspects.

They don’t want to inform or entertain; they want to exploit sympathy by lazily baiting the hook with cute, rosy-cheeked Hollywood kids old enough to look and act precocious. And so what if those children are considerably older and more expressive than Crowley’s real-life infants -- it’s all in the name of eliciting tears.

And in the unlikely event that fails, there’s always Ford to fall back on. After all, who doesn’t love seeing him conjure up a variation on Han Solo in all his sarcastic and curmudgeonly glory?

Me, for one. Been there, done that. And at age 74, it now looks ridiculous on Ford. But not nearly as ridiculous as his fictional character, Dr. Stonehill, an alleged composite of the many genetic researchers who worked to find the Pompe cure.

He’s a walking and talking cliché, precariously trying to conceal a big heart behind a quick temper and a propensity for shouting expository lines.

It’s a painful reminder that Ford, even at his age, should stick to action flicks and leave the drama to professionals like Jared Harris (“Mad Men”), who excels as a genetics executive willing to make the tough, unpopular decisions.

Unlike Ford, Fraser and Keri Russell (in the thankless role of Crowley’s too-good-to-be-true wife), Harris always finds just the right tone for his somewhat villainous character.

He’s also the only person that seems remotely human. Everyone else is practically on the verge of sainthood. That includes John Crowley, who makes profiting off of misfortune almost seem like a religious experience.

But how would Jesus, a fellow miracle healer, feel? All he got for his benevolent troubles was an execution. John Crowley got everything he ever wanted. And it’s enough to make you sick.